


Liberty

by buffering



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Capitalism, Complete, Feminism, Freedom, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Metaphors, No Dialogue, No Sex, Sexism, Slavery, Surreal, The Author Regrets Nothing, based off a dream i once had, being stubborn will do wonders for you, girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffering/pseuds/buffering
Summary: For as long as I can remember, I have been here. This disgusting, humiliating, deprecating place where the 'workers' are used and used until there is nothing left of them. Our lives are full of sweat and blood and fire and metal, with chains on our wrists and dirt smudged across our skin.





	Liberty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all :D
> 
> I wrote this several years ago and was recently going through my Google docs and thought, 'hey, maybe someone will enjoy this.' So, here we are. I haven't edited it other than formatting and typos, so some wording might be a bit wonky. Any errors are mine. 
> 
> This is based off a dream I had, which...probably tells you I need to go back to therapy. But hey! I got a somewhat coherent story from a dream so that's cool. 
> 
> There is a very small mention of p*dophilia, but nothing more than that. 
> 
> Hope you're all safe out there. Thank you for reading :D

For as long as I can remember, I have been here. This disgusting, humiliating, deprecating place where the 'workers' are used and used until there is nothing left of them. Our lives are full of sweat and blood and fire and metal, with chains on our wrists and dirt smudged across our skin. We've lost ourselves, lost our names, only referred to as 'dolls' or some derogatory name that's spit out like poison. 

The blaring alarm rings, signalling the start of a new day. It's supposed to be the 'wake up' signal, but most people have been up for hours before. At least, the smart people are. New 'workers' are never those people, too confused and scared to be able to think properly, let alone realize what the alarm even means. I almost feel sorry for the girl in the cell next to mine, but then the empathy is swallowed by the numbing feeling of hopelessness. 

I push myself up from the thin mattress that's so worn out there's stuffing coming out, and I stand in front of it. I try to ignore the bugs that crawl over my bare feet as the cell door swings open. It's electronic, forced to automatically open every morning at exactly 4:15. I don't know why that time was chosen, and I don't have enough drive or energy to really care about it. 

I step out of my room, seeing all the other 'workers' shuffle down the hallway like the undead. We're all like mindless ants, following whatever orders the mother queen gives. The idea makes me sick, and I swallow the bile that's suddenly risen in my throat. We line up in the auditorium, chains clinking together as one after another girls stand next to each other. I give the girl next to me a glance, knowing what a horrible idea it is because then I'll never forget it. She's pretty, with dark eyes and with raven black hair. Her skin is pale and marked with dirt and muck, and she blankly stares at the floor like her life depends on it. In a way, it does. 

Initiation is today, when some of us are sold or traded to other 'factories'. The buyers look for the deadest looking eyes, the prettiest faces, the most beautiful bodies. Some of the sicker buyers get the little ones, the ones that haven't even received their first bleed yet. Those purchases always light a fire inside me, but my mask never breaks. The fiery ones always die or get 'rehabilitated'. 

There was a girl who was stubborn, who never looked at the floor, who never let her fire die. She never broke, even after they mutilated and beat her in ways unimaginable. She always smiled it off and stood right back up, spit right back in their faces. One day she disappeared, and a week later she was back but only as an empty shell. There was nothing left of her, no spunk, no fight, no fire inside of her. She's nothing but a blank stare and a drooling mouth. 

I see the buyers, all waiting in a line just like us. They wear fancy clothes that shine in the dim lighting and their skin is like polished marble. The smell of pretentiousness and wickedness is enough to knock out an elephant, and I nearly vomit again. They slowly walk by us, beady eyes examining us. One of them, rat faced and pale, stops in front of the girl next to me. A tongue swipes across thin lips, like a cat staring down a mouse. I continue to stare into the opposite wall, knowing nothing good will come of rebellion. I tell myself I'm too broken to fight back, but deep down I know that's a lie. 

A rotund buyer, wearing too tight clothes and leaning on a cane, stops in front of me. The buyer examines me over with analytical eyes, like I'm nothing more than something to be bought. The buyer pokes and prods, but my mask never falls away. Not even a flinch mars this perfect mask I've built around my face. Suddenly, the buyer nods, and I'm roughly yanked forwards by my chains. My heart races, filling my ears with the incessant sound. This wasn't supposed to happen. No. I'm not supposed to be bought, not by this ancient artifact clinging to my chains.

I pull back before my mind even realizes it, and the buyer whirls around with watery, piercing eyes. This is stupid and pointless, but the fire inside me only burns brighter. I meet the eyes of the buyer, putting all the defiance and animosity I can in my gaze. I spit at the buyer's feet, glaring back at him. I'm going to be sent to Rehabilitation, there's no doubt about that, but now I understand the girl who rebelled. I understand what she felt, what she was feeling every time she fought back. The blood roaring in your ears like a battle cry, the thump thump thump of your heart, the crashing wave of adrenalin that fills your veins. 

In a fluid movement, I wrap my chains around the buyers fat neck, pulling them taut. The buyer gasps for air, face red and an angry vein popping from the forehead. I pull even tighter, watching the buyers face go from red to purple. Finally the buyer crashes to the floor, eyes bulging and already glazed over. I look up from the buyers body, seeing the other buyers calculating eyes stare at me like an animal in a cage. I glance over at the raven haired girl again, surprised to see her dark eyes staring into mine. They are full of anger and sadness and hope. There is so much hope in them it burns. 

I give her a tiny nod, and with a harsh cry she twists and pulls a buyer close to her with her chains, squeezing against the buyer's neck. The whole room slowly catches on to the frenzy, with buyers panicking and running away while girls fully open their eyes and fight with their bindings. I hear a skittering sound on the dirty tile floor, and I look around until I spot a silver pen, pristine and shiny like it'd been polished frequently. I smoothly run over and grab it, quickly turning to shove it into another buyer's eye. The pen acts as my knife, slashing and stabbing while my chains wrap themselves around throats like a serpent would a tree. The buyers, the ones still alive, seem very much dead with cold empty eyes that express no emotion, not even terror or anger. Some have run through the heavy doors, but I know there are girls beyond them. In this disgusting atrocity of a place, there are girls everywhere. 

Finally, a silence falls throughout the room. I inhale, looking around. There is nothing but buyers bodies splayed all around the floor, and girls standing strong brandishing their chains. I look back over to the girl from before, and I see her lips form a tiny smile at me. Girls, short and tall, dark and light, stand throughout the dirtied room. The heavy doors crash open, and even more girls rush into the room, gasping for air and smiling and laughing. Girls in the room hold each other's hands and kiss others foreheads and hold each other close. Girls cry tears of joy and finally smile for the first time in forever.

I have never known freedom. I have never known anything other than chains and buyers and being inferior. I have never seen the sky and never felt the sunlight on my skin. I have never known anything other than muck and heat and filth and the feeling of worthlessness. 

But I am ready to learn otherwise.


End file.
